Need We Say It Was Not Love,

Blessed Be Death, That Cuts In Marble What Would Have Sunk To Dust!

And Reaching Up My Hand To Try, I Screamed To Feel It Touch The Sky.

Euclid Alone Has Looked On Beauty Bare. Let All Who Prate Of Beauty Hold Their Peace, And Lay Them Prone Upon The Earth And Cease To Ponder On Themselves, The While They Stare At Nothing, Intricately Drawn Nowhere.

Life Goes On Forever Like The Gnawing Of A Mouse.

I Make Bean Stalks, I'm A Builder, Like Yourself.